Twenty
Tatum
The six-hour driveto Tallahassee felt like it lasted a freaking lifetime. Otis drank, Toby smoked, Calix skulked, and Harvey tried his best to get a rise out of all of them.
A couple of hours in, I excused myself to call Ma and check in on how the nurse was working out. The fatigue in her voice scared the hell out of me, but when I asked if she was caring for herself, she told me I was fussing needlessly and changed the conversation. I couldn’t wait until we stopped in Minnesota so I could see her. Make sure they were both all right. My bullshit meter was screaming at me, but Ma wasn’t the kind of woman you called out without proof.
As I ended the call, Toby wandered in and draped himself over my lap, falling quickly into a deep sleep without a word.
How was it that of all the men, my relationship with this broken soul felt the least complicated? He seemed to crave physical contact, taking the opportunity to hug or hold me any chance he got, regardless of his level of intoxication.
I opened the boys’ social media page and began responding to comments, deleting anything inflammatory, and just reading the vibes of fans as I stroked Toby’s hair back off his face.
A lot of the comments were the standard “I love you” from the innocent through to the downright filthy offers. Those I deleted so the social media gods wouldn’t ban our page.
How long could I keep these guys’ attention when @SallyMILF2003 was offering to let them run a train on her ass in the middle of a set?
Toby mumbled in his sleep, rubbing his cheek against my leg before he settled under my stroking hand. How many people had taken advantage of him when he was in this state?
I was a firm believer in enthusiastic consent—my games with Calix being an exception because I truly believed he would stop if I told him no—and that wasn’t something you could give when you were substance effected 24/7.
“I wish I knew how to help you,” I told him, carding my fingers through his disheveled locks.
His hair was longer than he usually wore it, and I wondered if I should offer to cut it or organize a barber to visit. Otis would know, but he wasn’t in the most helpful mind frame.
Speak of the devil.
The door slid open and my most recent trouble-maker stumbled toward the bed.
“What’s going on in here?” His voice slurred, and I cringed as he stumbled over the corner of the bed.
“Nothing much. We’re just resting. Do you want to lie down with us?” I asked, eager to see him sleep for a handful of hours while we had the chance.
“You don’t want me here. Why are you asking that?” His brow was furrowed, his beautiful blonde curls flattened against his head.
“Of course I want you here. I wouldn’t have invited you otherwise. Come on, lie down with us. Give me the bottle.”
He cradled the bottle to his chest like a prize. Like his only link to sanity, but he edged slightly closer to the bed with a watered-down version of hope in his eyes.
“Come on, lie with us and tell me why you would ever think I don’t want you. You’re part of us, Otis.”
Toby snorted in his sleep, and I resumed stroking his hair as Otis, at last, crawled onto the mattress and relinquished the booze.
“I don’t know why you’ve done this to yourself, but I’m sorry for whatever part I’ve played in it,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder as he cuddled in on my other side.
“Not you. Not just you. No one wants me. I’m alone forever now,” he muttered, sleep and alcohol making his words slow and difficult to understand. Within a few minutes, both men were fast asleep, and I had nothing to do but go back to scrolling.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, the bus was leaning into a turn, the sound of tires on the road quieting as it reduced speed. The bed was cold where Tobias had lain, but on my other side, Otis was starting to stir. As I shifted, pain lanced through my lower belly.
No. It can’t be time. Mentally, I ran through what tablet I’d taken for my contraceptive that morning. Sugar pill. Damn it.
Today was going to suck.
Instead of dealing with my asshole of a body, I resolutely turned my attention to the man beside me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, brushing a hand over his hair.
He groaned, burying his face in the pillows. “Like I’m still drunk.”
